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POEMS 



BY 



/ 
WILLIAM WINTEJi. 



m.L 



" The firstlings of my muse — 
Poor windfalls of unripe experience, — 
Young buds plucked hastily by childish hands, 
Not patient to await more full-blown flowers."-LowELL. 



BOSTON; 
GEORGE W. BRIGGS & CO 

MDCCCLV. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by 

WILLIAM WINTEK, 

In tlie Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 



E1)i3 Folume 



IS, BY PERinSSION, RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 



IN TOKEN OF 



THE author's AD]MIKATI0N OF HIS GENIUS 



GRATITUDE FOR HIS KINDNESS. 



PREFATORY NOTE. 



The autlior of the volume now sub- 
mitted to the publiC; is at present eighteen 
years of age ; and the poems here col- 
lected have been written at different 
periods during the last four or five years. 
This fact is not mentioned with a view to 
disarm criticism or invite lenity, but only 
to explain in some degree the presence of 
errors in structure, a certain mutability of 
style and wavering tone of thought, from 
the disadvantages of which, inasmuch as 
they are almost inseparable from the 
productions of inexperience, the author 
has no right to believe himself exempted. 



yi PREFATORY NOTE. 

Quiet elegance and refinement, acquisitions 
which can only ensue from a continued 
association with all that is beautiful, are 
more naturally the characteristics of maturer 
years. To spring to excellence at a single 
bound is impossible; we must exercise a 
careful indulgence in endeavoring to satisfy 
the untiring desires of a restless ambition. 
This volume is therefore presented without 
pretension, as a collection of juvenile 
poetry; and, as no claim is preferred to 
peculiar originality, it will be more just to 
judge these poems, not as the results of 
careful study and cautious revision, but as 
the mere accidents of circumstance and. 

passion. 

W. W. 

Cambridge J Nov. 1854. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Melancholy 9 

The Valley of Life 21 

Twilight Musings 26 

Of the Actual . 31 

Of the Unseen 35 

To the Evening Star 38 

Thoughts at My Mother's Grave . . . .41 

Life 45 

Beauty in Nature . 47 

Stanzas for a Rose 49 

" Mild as the Midnight of a Summer Sky" . . 52 

" The Power of Grace " 53 

Stanzas ; Except the Bloom of Virtue, &c. . . 55 

The Philosophy of Life and Death . . . . 56 

Night 60 

Remembrance 61 

Lines to a Friend 63 

Sunset 65 

Nature 66 



vill CONTENTS. 

Page 

A Stanza from Racine's Athalie . . . . 71 

Morning in the Country 72 

Order 75 

A Serenade . '^ 

The Abbot's Grave . . . . . . . 79 

The Elm 81 

The Creation 84 

A Bower of Lilies I 've raised for Thee . . . 86 
Lines on the Death of Robert Rantoul, Jr. . . 87 

An Evening Thought 89 

Retrospection 90 

Morior 92 

'T is Hard to Part 95 

Sailing by Moonlight ; A Fragment . . .96 
The Religion of Night . . .' . . . 98 

Wait and Hope 102 

To my Friend A 103 

Ad Mortuam 106 

Mount Auburn 109 

Prologue to an Unpublished Poem . . .115 

The Convent; A Romance 118 

Goodnight 137 

Notes 141 



MELANCHOLY. 



" The glance 
Of melancholy is a fearful gift ; 
What is it but the telescope of truth? " — Byron. 



Lo ! in the west float upward one bj one, 
The golden glories of the setting sun. 
The distant tower in mellow lustre glows, 
Calmly and pure the gentle south wind 

blowS; 
Faintly the echoes float upon the air 
And all is beauty — in the hour of prayer. 



10 POEMS. 

Hail ! peaceful solace — hail ! beloved repose 
From daily cares and from oppressive 

woes ! 
Now the rapt soul uplifted to the skies, 
Back through the past the kindling memory 

flies J 
First, all that's good and beautiful in hue, 
All we 've possessed and all we 've longed 

for too. 
Trips swiftly on, in short, too short review. 



Lo ! there, slow moving like a funeral train, 
The memories throng of weariness and 

pain. 
The years glide on ; oh, when will these 

be past? 
Tell me is this, is this indeed the last? 
Ah, no ! the wrinkles on the pallid brow 
Too plainly tell the misery is now. 



MELANCHOLY. 1 1 

While distant evils foolishly we fear, 
Those are o'erlooked which hover threaten- 
ing near. 



But though these memories may be dark 

and drear, 
There 's much that 's precious, much that 's 

beauteous here. 
From sadness virtue springs, not discontent, 
And the dark veil of worldliness is rent j 
And all that's tender, genial, good, and 

kind, 
Springs in the heart and blossoms in the 

mind. 
Where sorrow is, all, all things must be fair, 
For beauty, heaven-born beauty will be 

there ', 
Bound by a tie no earthly power can move. 
Strong as the bond of Innocence and Love- 



12 POEMS. 

Saj! whence the nobler pleasures of the 

soul — 
The glorious wish that spurns a base control ? 
Those mighty thoughts by which the unseen 

eye 
Pierces the depths of far futurity ? 
Cometh that knowledge from ignoble source 
Which points the planets in their endjess 

course, 
Lays bare the wonders of yon vaulted sky 
And all the dread magnificence on high? 
Ah; no ! such knowledge is but cheaply 

bought 
By years of toil and nights of laboring 

thought ; 
And such its majesty it may not spring 
From any grovelling, any worthless thing ; 
Not foolish mirth with idleness replete — 
Nor youth — the dearest, sweetest, best 

deceit, 



MELANCHOLY. 1 



«> 



Nor aught in earth that 's thoughtless, light 

and gay, 
Can ever hope to reach the primal ray; 
But bound in darkness, laboring darkly on, 
Sink down forgotten when their day is 

done. 



Hail ! spirit ever lovely, fond and dear ! 
To thee we owe the joy that crowns us 

here. 
Whom should we worship, every power 

above, . 
If not that being whom we fondly love? 
Or who so dearly worth as one that gives 
Kindness alike to every thing that lives? 
Say, was his mind who traced creation's 

- ^ laws,^ 
Seeking through darkness the primeval 

cause, 

B 



14 POEMS. 

Wrapt up in folly when lie hailed thee 

friend — 
The kindest blessing that the fates might 

send ? 
Did not thy spells charm upward to the 

light, 
The mystic spirit of the Stagyrite ? 
Issued not forth thine ever blest decrees 
Unto blind Milton — blind Maeonides ? 
Didst thou not linger where from out the 

sea 
Spake the immortal bard of Italy ? 
In Tasso's dungeon make thy sad abode, 
And reign triumphant o'er an earth-born 

god? 
Where silver Avon gently winds away, 
Didst thou not settle at the shut of day ? 
Were not thy shadows twined about the 

brow 
Of Passion's haughty lord? and even now. 



MELANCHOLY. 15 

Can tliese be ever lifted from his tomb, 



'; 



Where, as in life, all loneliness and gloom, 

With shadowy shapes that never, never 
sleep. 

Surround him still to murmur and to weep ? 

When the dear girl whom living he adored 

Knelt o'er his grave and mourned the 
buried lord,^ 

Was she not happiest bending o'er that spot 

While fancy feigned the sad " Forget-me- 
not,"— 

And those sweet words of tenderness and 
pain 

His lips had framed, to memory came again ? 

Ah ! trust the influence, trust the magic 
power 

Of heavenly sorrow in the soul's dark hour ! 
When sense hath palled and passion's 

throbs are gone, 

Still this remains all lonely and alone. 



16 POEMS. 

'T Ls round the cradle ; when the mother's 

eyes 
First meet her babe's in mute and glad 

surprise, 
Straightway her fancy, reasoning from the 

past;3 
Pierces the future where its lot is cast; 
And as the joys which wait on life are seen, 
With the long intervals of grief between, 
Sadly she turns, and to her glowing breast 
Presses her babe, where only it can rest; 
For never, nevermore shall time allow 
The blissful innocence that shields it now. 



Childhood is fettered ; even the laughing 

boy. 
Languid and satiate with continual joy. 
To his kind mother's side will sadly creep. 
And softly sighing lull himself to sleep; 



MELANCHOLY. 17 

When pleasures only weary and distort 
He seeks a mother's love — the last, the 
best resort. 



When life is young — when hope's bright 

beams expand, 
And thrill the quivering lip and trembling 

hand ; 
When fancy paints that thorny pathway 

bright, 
Which leads through suffering and is lost 

in night; 
When first in Nature's loveliness we 

spy; 

The glowing, native, inborn majesty; 
When all that thought receives or sense 

can find. 
With novel power pervades the towering 

mind ; 

B * 



18 POEMS. 

Then Friendship springs, then Love its 

influence gains, 
And rivets fast its ne'er, forgotten chains. 
And Hope, enchanting Hope, without fore- 
boding reigns. 



Yes! we may love without a single fear '. 
Save that we cherish passion too sincere ; 
Then (for our thoughts are kind, our hearts 

are light. 
Of cruel care as yet we 've felt no blight,) 
In Friendship's bondage with the sons of 

men. 
Blithe we may join, for all is brightness 

then. 
Yet truest friendships are not light and gay.; 
And such as are so quickly melt away, 
That, like the morning mist beneath the sun, 
Their course is finished ere 't is quite begun. 



MELANCHOLY. 19 

But . years _ roll past ; the. paths of life 

spread wide; . 
Its many miseries, all: its beauties hide : 
Fancy's creations crumble to the dust^ 
We felt they might deceive — we know they 

must. 
Pride wastes affection — what is Wisdom's 

state ? 
The soul is void, the heart is deso- 
late. 
Our better feelings flit like dreams 

away, 
And fade as fades the glimmering summer 

day: 
Dissolved, dispersed the phantom hopes of 

youth, 
For we have lived to know, to feel this 

truth ; 
However reason's vanity may range. 
Existence is one vast unceasing change. 



20 POEMS. 

Then, musing sadly o'er our former woes, 
From present pain we seek secure repose ; 
And with a firm resolve, inured, resigned. 
Leaving forever vain regrets behind, 
We stem the rushing tide of ills anew — 
True to ourselves — to human nature true. 



21 



THE VALLEY OF LIFE. 

• 

The path of life lies through a wilderness 
Barren and dreary, and if aught appear 

Of summer radiance; 't is to mock distress 
And gild an ideal bliss which is not here. 

Happy, indeed, is he who knoweth naught 
Of its heart-sickening sorrow, but hath 
found. 
Solely by physical contentment: taught,. ' 
'T is ill to pluck the flowers that grow 
around. 



22 POEMS. 

Though fair in truth, they multiply the pain ; 
For whoso tasteth pleasure must indeed 
Wear round his heart a heavy, festering 
chain, 
For pity mourn and for contentment 
bleed. 



There is a valley, distant, broad and deep, 
In climate various, in formation strano;e ; 

Behold a turbid river onward sweep 

In varying shadow — on each side a range 



Of dizzy mountains gradual sweep wide, 
On either hand — the stream of life 
within 
Boils on, and widely o'er the changing 
tide, 
Lo ! giant nature strives with giant sin. 



THE VALLEY OF LIFE. 23 

The rock, the tree, the fruit, the flower, 
the thorn. 
Are seen b}^ sparkles of Hope's diamond 
gem ; 
A single glance, and ages yet miborn. 
As we have gazed, so shall they gaze on 
them. 

Nature commands ; Ambition, Hate and 
Fear, 
And Love, and Hope, and Virtue spring 
apace ; 
All with ulterior influence appear. 

Each in the power of unity and place, 

'' We are the fools of time and terror, 
years 
Steal on us and steal from us," this is 
true J 



24 POEMS. 

Blindly we wander through this vale of 
tears, 
Wishing, yet fearing, what we 're hasten- 
ing to. 



'T is vain to dread the end, for it will be. 
Whether we hope or fear, or mourn or 
smile ; 
Dust unto dust, a stern fatality. 

The bourn of life whatever dreams be- 
guile. 



What is this little life if not a prison 

Wherein the nobler spirit is entombed ? 
And when that part immortal shall have 

risen 
Unto the high estate where once it 

bloomed. 



THE VALLEY OF LIFE. 25 

Shall there not be with it the recollec- 
tion 
Of what was here, as some remembered 
dream ? 
Shall it not feel, now it hath reached per- 
fection, 
Things of this world are never what they 
seem? 

Oh, truth transcendent ! could we but in- 
herit 

Such knowledge ere life's early, early 

wane. 

How should it soothe and tranquilize the 

spirit, 

How quell our longings and how soften 

pain ! i 



26 



TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 

The mist is gathering closely round. 

And darkly falls the shade of night, 
Through which there 's not a thrill of sound 
Nor ray of light. 



» Dense, spiral clouds of vapor wreath 
From off the waters fading dim, 
O'er which the breezes faintly breathe 
A funeral hymn. 



• 



TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 27 

I stand within the darkened room 

And through the open casement gaze 
Into a dim and shadowy gloom — 
Mysterious maze ! 

Sweet odors from the flowers arise, 

And now the cricket's sharp, shrill note 
Grates on the ear, while gleaming flies 
In circles float. 

The soft wind murmurs 'mid the leaves, 

And sways the branches to and fro. 
With a sad moan as one who grieves — 
Lonely and low. 

I cannot see a single star, 

Though ghastly tombstones glimmer white. 
Shedding a solemn influence far 
Into the night. 



28 POEMS. 

How solemn all ! how sad, how wan, 
Is this calm night, so like despair ! 
Ah ! many sighs are resting on 
This soft night air. 

Dark, hidden love is living now 

Its hour of mad and fierce distress, 
And Jealousy is plotting how 
To find redress. 

And dread Revenge, who never sleeps. 

Arouses now his devilish brood. 
And stalks abroad, and laughs, and weeps,. 
And howls for blood. 

Lo ! cowering Fear is crouching down, 

'Neath his own shadow to be hid; 
Even as he who smote the crown, 
Thereafter did.* 



TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 29 

And soft-eyed Sorrow tells her tale, 

With many a sigh and many a tear, 
To the low winds that softly wail 
And will not hear. 

And Memory weeps and watches through 

The long, long hours that pass awa;^, 
And mourns that life is gliding to 
Another day. 

Before mine eyes the shadows flit, 

The gliding ghosts of ruined hopes, 
And golden moments lost; and yet 
With time, Pride copes. 

There is no more of anguish left; 

There is no shrinking back from pain. 
Ah! nothing that the years have reft 
Returns aQ:ain. 



30 POEMS. 

Mourn not, mourn not I Press boldly on, 

The end of all must be at last ! 
Wherefore regret? when all is done, 
Then all is past. 

Dark and more dark the sliadows fall, 

But drearier are the thoughts that throng, 
Binding the mind in solemn thrall 
Of Right and Wrong. 



31 



OF THE ACTUAL. 

Lo I the sunlight, gaudy, glowing, 
O'er the hill-top bends its bow, 

Gorgeous, golden lustre throwing 
On the forest spread below. 

In the air there is a token. 
In the wind there is a voice, 

Words by better angels spoken — 
'T is the hour when men rejoice. 



32 POEMS. 

Fade ye midnight memories glooming 
Onward through the solemn hours ! 

There is rest in nature's blooming, 
Wanton joy among the flowers. 

On my dazzled vision breaking 

Throng the truths of coming years, 

Years that to themselves are taking 
Rosy joy through many tears. 

And I see that while repining 
O'er mistaken grief and pain, 

Still an unseen hand is twining 
Over all a golden chain. 

There shall be an hour of trial, 
Disappointment's withering touch; 

Bitter, too, shall be denial. 
Having little, wanting much. 



OF THE ACTUAL. 33 

Couched behind the future waiting, 
There is solace, there is peace ; 

And reflection is elating, 

Thinking that our care must cease. 

Press ye onward in your duty ! 

Thus, and only thus be blest ! 
Then discern in death its beauty — 

Lo, it giveth final rest. 

Beauty in all things abideth. 

Born inherent there to be ; 
But the scoffer all derideth — 

He is blind, and will not see. 

Spring they not from God's intention? 

Shall we mock supernal might ? 
In the noonday — but prevention 

Bideth 'neath the vaulted night. 



34 POEMS. 

In the noonday — but the morning 
Sacred is to God and truth ! 

Let there be no idle scorning, 
Crushing down celestial youth. 

Lo ! the gentle twilight falling, 
Rouseth up the slumbering soul, 

And it bursts from its enthralling, 
And it grasps the glorious whole. 

Grasps the mystery of creation, 
« 

Yiews the conflict end in restj 

Plunges to the deep foundation 

Far in Time's abysmal breast. 

And in this is confirmation. 
Ends our life as it began — 

Dwells in God the termination 
Of the destiny of man. 



Q 



5 



OF THE UNSEEN. 

Soft, low murmurs echoing faintly, 
Thrill throughout this dreary hall; 

And the shadows flickering quaintly, 
Waver up and down the wall. 

How the spectral fire-light dances 
On the gleaming window pane — 

Which in flame a moment glances, 
Then to shadow turns again. 



• 



36 POEMS. 

Viewless forms arc with me biding, 
Biding with me to condemn; 

And I feel an inward chiding 
When my spirit turns to them. 

Ah! indeed, full oft I meet them — 
Day and night, they falter not; 

Pride, alas! can ne'er defeat them — 
Grief can never be foro-ot. 



Memory holds not joyous traces 

Which past pleasure may have made; 

But if pain perchance embraces. 
When shall its grim token fade ! 

Never, never ! Dark and fearful. 
Backward comes the stern reply; 

And I bow me sad and tearful — 
But with tears that dim no eye. 



OF THE UNSEEN. 37 

With a grief that knows no sighing, 
With a pain that none can see, 

In a faltering, fainting, dying 
Spirit of solemnity. 

Hark ! a solemn whisper stealing, 

Floats throughout this shadowy room — 

" Mortal, wherefore shrink from feeling, 
Sorrow resteth in the tomb ? " 

Yea, let all at last be finished, 
Hope and fear, and joy and pain; 

Let the spark of life diminished 
Part, and naught but clay remain ; 

Then, indeed, there is an ending 
Of the sufi*cring we have borne, 

With the dust a final blending 
Of the heart that hath been torn. 



38 



TO THE EVENING STAR. 



Dear little star, how mild thou art! 

Thy pale sad beams that kiss my brow, 
Pure as her lips thou know'st ere now, 

With gentle kindness thrill my heart. 

Would I were like thee, little star ! 
And that thy soft and silvery light, 
Which streams upon my aching sight 

From those light, fleecy clouds afar. 



TO THE EVENING STAR. 39 

In a slight, tiny, trembling ray, 

Arid like, perchance, an angel's eye, 
From out the windows of the sky 

Darting a calm serenity, 

Was in my heart ! Ah, then indeed, 
For something noble might I live ! 
But now — for what life cannot give. 

This heart can only droop and bleed. 

Say, if among the eyes which are 
This moment gazing on thee there, 
Thou se'st as sweet and softly fair 

As thou thyself art, little star: 

Then seek her thoughts and bring them here, 
Across this floating bridge of gold; 
Then thy rich radiance shall I hold 

More bright, more lovely, and more dear. 



40 POEMS. 

Farewell ! I dare not longer gaze, 
The memories are so sadly sweet, 
Whicli throng upon me while I meet 

The soft effulgence of thy rays ! 

These but distress when thus they 're 
thought on ! 
The past can only live again 
In sighs, in bitter tears, in pain — 

Better forget and be forgotten. 



C 



41 



THOUGHTS AT MY MOTHER'S 
GRAVE. 



Ah! many a year hath passed and gone 

Since last I stood beside this tomb ; 
And many a hope hath o'er me shone, 

And life hath sped in light and gloom; 
And now when comes at last the end 

Of this probation, sad and slow, 
My sorrowing course I hither bend 

To mourn for her who rests below. 

D * 



42 • POEMS. 

Full dear wast thou to all who knew 

That gentle kindness, which with thee, 
Was so sincerely, sweetly true. 

None failed to love who once did 
see. 
But far too gentle, far too mild, 

Wast thou for such a world as this, 
And Heaven received its chosen child 

Back to the realms of spirit bliss. 



I linger long upon this spot, 

I mourn thee — and is grief a sin? 
Alas, alas ! I 'm thinking what. 

If thou hadst lived, thou might 'st have 
been. 
But Death compelled his tribute, ere 

Thy son had lived to know thy worth; 
And I am left in my despair, 

With but a single friend on earth. 



THOUGHTS AT MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. 43 

They tell me that mild beauty crowned 

Thy form with an angelic grace, 
It wrapped thee like a garment round, 

And glowed divinely in thy face ; 
That thou wert also kind and good 

As thou wert beautiful to see, 
And all but makes me murmur, " would 

Thou hadst been spared, been spared 
to me ! " 



How paltry all affection seems 

Contrasted with a mother's love ! 
And all those rapid, transient dreams 

Of youthful passion — who can prove? 
Such " love is lust, " a meteor glare, 

Consuming all it rests upon; 
Its only products are, dgspair. 

And burning shame, when all is 
done. 



44 ' POEMS. 

But this burns on so calm and pure ; 

This is so sweet by virtue fed, 
This is so steadfast and so sure, 

Increasing still as life is spedj 
'This is so beautiful, so true, 

It seems a spirit born of Heaven — 
For every sorrow finds its due, 

And every sin can be forgiven. 



45 



LIFE. 



'T is something in a world of woe, 
'T is something in a life of pain, 

When all at length is passed, to know . 
We have not lived in vain. 

We have not long to linger here, 

But we have much to struggle through; 

Perplexed by hope, dismayed by fear. 
And trembling 'twixt the false and true. 



46 POEMS. 

But lie who wields his life aright 

In thought and action bold and strong, 

Who, craven, cringes not to might. 
Who grapples with the giant wrong; 



Who looks beyond the present time. 
Who can discern the chain of things ; 

Who sees, each year its gentle chime 
In perfect modulation rings ; 

Who feels the struggling soul within. 
Who comprehends what is to be — 

He truly spurns a life of sin. 
And lives for all eternity. 



47 



BEAUTY IN NATURE. 



I love, I love each beauteous flower 
That haply meets mine eye, 

But more I love the midnight hour 
When winds go wailing by. 

I love, I love each gentle bird • , 
That sings in fern or brake, 

But sweeter music ne'er was heard 
Than stormy winds can make. 



48 POEMS. 

I love bei^eath tlie summer sim 
To muse along the sliore ; 

But, better when the day is done 
Old Ocean's wrathful roar. 

I love the tiny, tinkling sound 

From every golden star, 
But when the lightnings dart around 

Their arrowy tongues afar; 

And when the thunders roar along 
The grim and frowning sky; 

Ah! then I love the rushing, strong. 
And glorious symphony. 

The humblest gift that nature brings, 

In beauty doth appear ; 
But majesty is in her things 

Of deep and awful fear. 



49 



STANZAS FOR A HOSE. 



Dear maid, this pure and graceful rose 

Enwraps a world of tender thought; 
But that which chiefly burns and glows 

Is, that thou gav'st it all unsought. . 
Sweet source of many a happy dream 

It bends full gently on its stem, 
But such the hidden thoughts, 't would seem 

'T were bent more firmly down by them. 

E 



50 POEMS. 

I count its pearly leaflets o'er, 

I count them slowly, one by one, 
Till centred at its inmost core, 

I sigh to feel the shrine is won. 
Not that its fragrance fails the root, 

Not that the heart less pure hath 
lain, 
But that I close the fond pursuit 

Which never can be new again. 



So 't is with love ; a sly, soft glance. 

Perchance a kiss — by these we're ledj 
It is a gay and glad advance. 

Till all unwound the golden thread: 
Then, then bright ftope shall burn no 
more. 

And memory be a type of pain. 
Because the fond pursuit is o'er 

Which never can be new again. 



STANZAS FOR A EOSE. 51 

Thee in thy gift shall I forget? 

Ah, that 't were hardly just to do : 
Thou wilt forgive the thought, and yet 

There 's much in common 'twixt the two- 
If one be graceful, tender, sweet j 

If innocence with one there be j 
The other truly, is replete 

"With beauty and with purity. 



Well, let that pass — 'tis naught to me, 

Thine image as thy gift must fade. 
And with these thoughts must flit and flee 

All dreams of bliss thou might'st have 
made. 
No more ! no more ! the hour for this. 

Hath lived, and thrilled, and burned — 
and fled J 
There but remains a phantom kiss 

On lips that now are cold and dead. 



52 



Mild as tlie midniglit of a summer sky, 
And gentle as the moonbeams on its brow j 
Radiant and pure as ideality, 
Yet fond as youtkful love — such, such art 
thou. 



Bright are those dark and deeply lustrous 

eyes, 
Expressive in their beauty, wildly sad; 
And as faint shadows o'er the sunset skies. 
Musical thoughts, now sorrowful, now glad. 
Appear and vanish there, thus to express — 
Naught but the mystery of loveliness. 



53 



"THE POWER OF GRACE. 



'T was but a moment, yet the light 
Of love that lay -within her eyes. 

Hath haunted me by day and night, 
For there were in them mysteries; 

They spoke of a diviner fire, 

A soul to feel and to aspire. 

E * 



54 POEMS. 

"We never, never since have met; 

But there 's a charm which must endure : 
Nor can I, if I would, forget 

Those eyes that even now allure; 
In the far distance gazing through — 
Those tender eyes of brilliant blue. 

Those rosy lips, for kisses formed 

And words of love, that throbbing breast. 

With such a flood of passion warmed. 
Seemed only eager to be pressed: 

Ah! cold that heart must.be and chill 

Which so much beauty may not thrill ! 



55 



Except the bloom of virtue; there 
Is naught of beauty but must fade ; 

And man hath power, and man will dare, 
To blast the loveliest God has made. 



Woe to the rosy lip of youth — 

Woe to the smooth and pearly brow — 

Woe to the hopes of love and truth, 
While men exist as men are now! 



56 



THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE 
AND DEATH. 



In time is truth, and only there 'tis seen ! 
All else is vain and fruitless, void and 

base J 
Life is a bondage, heaven and earth 

between. 
Through the dull course of which we 

closely trace 
The struggle of the soul to reach its place. 
And upward soar i^to the blest abode 
Of nobler essences : yet this cold case, 
Howe'er debased and worn, hath been 
bestowed. 
And not in vain, by him — our great cre- 
ator, God. 



PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE AND DEATH. 57 

The soul devours it, and it wastes to 

naught 'j 
It perisheth; commingling with the dust. 
And the great lesson its existence taught, 
Is soon obliterated by the rust 
Which passion, care and sorrow ever must 
Leave after them to canker and to blight : 
Devouring hate, and jealousy, and lust — 
Desire, which blasteth all with deadly 

light, 
Will ruin peace, and then, to Happiness, 

Good night! 



Yet doth it teach us — this weak, suffer- 
ing clay — 

A mightier lesson than aught else can 
teach ; 

That life is even as an April day, 

Or as a wave that breaks along the beach. 



58 POEMS. 



Let zealots rant, let parsons pray and 

preach — 
Most part in vain — there 's nothing so 

intense, 
So potent in its wide, majestic reach, 
As of decaying time the thrilling 

sense 
And of uncertain life, — Ah, when shall I 

go hence ? 



That which the mortal body makes must 
die ! 

But that which springeth from the im- 
mortal mind 

Must live forever — its divinity. 

Is in the soul which animates man- 
kind. 

"Dust unto dust" — then what is left 
behind 



PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE A^D DEATH. 59 

Of that poor structure, may not long 

survive ; 
It passeth even as the unknown wind — 
The other liveth on and still must live : 
Vitality to life, what; what is there can 
'give? 



Death is to man, and ruin to his works : 
In mutability existence is : 
Beneath the surface, lo ! the viper lurks — 
The mortal perisheth — what hath been 

his" 
In dread destruction sinks into th' abyss 
Of lapsing centuries, and what begun 
In pride and promise comes at last to 

this ; 
Even as a drop of water 'neath the sun, 
It dwindles, fades, and now, all, all is past 

and done. 



60 



NIGHT. 



'T is in the glory of the night 
A thoughtful solemn mind can see, 

In one broad blaze of living light. 
Creation's Deity. 



The lovely stars — the wind's low sigh — 
The broad blue lake — the forest's nod — 

In all around — in all on high, 
There is the hand of God. 



61 



REMEMBEANCE. 



When birds shall sing, and plants and 
flowers 

Shall flourish in their beauty bright; 
When Spring shall shed her gentle showers, 

And Summer's breath perfume the night ; 



When on thy grave the violet blue. 
In modest loveline'ss shall spring; 

And in the rich and glowing hue 

Which nature paints each living thing, 



62 POEMS. 

The sky shall spread its azure fold 
Above this spot of peaceful rest; 

And all that 's now so drear and cold, 
In robes of splendor shall be drest; 

Then lonely, sadly shall we weep 

For all we Ve loved and all we' ve lost ; 

But pain is foreign to th}^ sleep — 

No Hope disturbs — no Love is crossed. 

Then why, if peace at last . hath crowneid 
Thy few, sad years of grief and pain, 

Should we lament in gathering round 
The mournful relics that remain ! 



63 



LINES TO A FRIEND. 



The hopes which are with us to-day 

Are gone to-morrow j 
So youth and beauty fade away, 

So cometh sorrow. 



The fond deceit of youth will fade 

And lonely, leave us 
To the wild yision it hath made, 

Only to grieve us. 



64 POEMS. 

But in tlie sweet communion 

Of heart with heart, 
There is a bond of union 

Nothing can part. 

And this, dear friend, is ours ; ay ! here 
at rest 
Our hope remains; 
And though, perchance, 't is fruitless, 't is 
the best 
Of earthly chains. 

Yet but a little while, and then we two 

Must go away J 
But while we linger, let us still be true. 

Then come what may ! 



Q5 



SUNSET. 



See the sun is sinking lowly 

Down into a golden pile 
Of thick clouds that moving slowly, 

Grace his funeral couch the while ; 
See, at parting, see how holy 

Is that melancholy smile ! 

Still a struggle, now 't is ended ; 

Calmly hath he sunk to rest, 
Hues of heavenly lustre blended, 

Gleam through all the glowing west. 
Now the darkness hath descended 

And the lover's hour is blest. 



66 



NATURE.5 



Hail ! miglity mother of the universe, 

all hail ! 
Queen of creation which is spread 

around ; 
Borne on the lightning's wing as thou 

shalt sail 
O'er rugged mountain-tops mid thunder's 

sound, 
Onward, still onward, to the farthest 

bound 



NATURE. 67 

Of thine eternal limitS; where my gaze 
Can meet tlie light unveiled, and where 

is found 
The image of his glory — in the blaze 
Of majesty divine disclose thy wondrous 
ways I 



Nature ! the caverns of the earth re- 
sound 

In hollow tones its adoration deep; 

Old Ocean bellows through his depths 
profound, 

Wild echo answers from each craggy 
steep ; 

The thunders raise their voices — light- 
nings leap; 

And comets crackle as they burst along ; 

In honor of thy coming, whirlwinds 
sweep, 



68 * POEMS. 



Fierce earthquakes groan a deep and 
dismal song, 
And lowly valleys rise to mountains proud 
and strong. 



The boundless Ocean flowing far and 

wide, 
And the blue depth of yon ethereal sea, 
And all the wonders which their bosoms 

hide, 
Witness thy massive might, and worship 

thee. 
All, all that forms the vast immensity 
Yon journeying worlds in golden radiance 

veiled 
Bend lowly down, supernal deity ! 
To that high majesty which ne'er yet 

failed 
In action or event whatever power assailed. 



NATURE. 69 

Morn, witli its balmy breeze and opening 
flowerS; 

And all the spangles of the glowing east ; 

Evening so beautiful^ with moonlit bowers 

And silver waves by summer breezes 
creased ; 

The silence of the night when sound 
hath ceased, 

And all things slumber, wrapt in deepen- 
ing gloom ', 

All these thy power confess, and not the 
least 

Of thine, yon blooming verdure of the tomb, 
Which springs obedient forth from foul 
corruption's womb. 



So shall thy might be known; for ever- 

more 
As thou hast been so ever shalt thou be ! 



70 POEMS. 

Systems sliall rise where systems were 

before, 
And thou unchanged in thy eternity 
Of endless years, shalt hold thy course ; 

no tie 
Of thine be severed ; still thine iron rod 
Shall rule the passing ages ; thou art 

high 
Exalted where no form of clay hath 

trod — 
Before his throne ; All hail, Nature and 

Nature's God! 



71 



A STANZA FROM RACINE'S 
ATHALIE.6 

Act. I. Scene iv. 

'T is he who gives the beauteous flowers ; 

By him that spangled fruits are given; 
Which cast abroad in golden showers 

Make earth a seeming heaven. 
The fields receive the heat of day, 

And too, the cooling air of night; 
And yellow grain and fruits repay 

Thy care — the bounties of his might. 



72 



MORNING IN THE COUNTRY. 



'T is morning j in the east fleet; many 

liued, 
Fast changing clouds dazzle my wavering 

sight ; 
And rising from the broad green fields 

bedewed, 
Masses of wreathing vapor, snowy white, 
Vanish like dreams ; yon circle of red 

light 



MORNING IN THE COUNTRY. 73 

Arises varying as the clouds glide 

past ; 
And now in proud effulgence gleaming 

bright; 
It rushes forth, its modest mantle cast; 
Day winds his horn and mounts his golden 

car at last. 



Now a broad glory flames across the 

sky! 
The deep blue arch of heaven is opening 

fast — 
Thin fleecy clouds are hurried swiftly by, 
Swept on the pinions of the northern 

blast. 
Now the warm sunbeams to the earth 

are cast, • 

And o'er the meadows float the liquid 

notes 



G 



74 POEMS. 

Of the Spring songsters ; now within the 

vast 
And leafy trees, from tiny squirrel 
throats 
We hear the chirrup shrill, and note their 
glossy coats. 



■jf^ ^ * -jf 



75 



ORDER. 



Life liath a method, nature hath its laws, 
For everything that is there is a cause. 
That principle sustains the mightiest tree, 
Which guards the lowliest flower the eye 

can see ,* 
And that same law which bids the starting 

tear. 
Guides the long march of each ethereal 

sphere. 
So nice the various parts we can perceive, 
That reason bids us the unseen believe. 
Search further yet, and when the whole is 

known, 
'Twill be perfection, 'twill be that alone. 



76 



A SERENADE. 



I. 



Awake, love, awake, 

Thy lover greets tliee ! 

Awake, love, awake. 

The moonbeam meets thee ! 
The zephyr plays on thy marble brow. 

Awake, love, awake, 
All is beauty now. 

Come in thy robes of snow. 
Nothing can harm thee ; 

Melting with love 

Let not passion alarm thee. 



A SERENADE. 77 



From thy arched casement 

Give me a token; 
Say that thou lovest me — 

Speak ! I have spoken. 



II. 



Well if thou wilt not, 

Why should I pain thee ? 
Shall this sad farewell 

Free and unchain me ? 
Yes, I will leave thee ! 
Never again shalt thou look on thy lover : 
What though it grieve me ? Thou shalt 

not discover 
Aught of the pain that now scorches this 

bosom — 
Ah! heart that will rest from its sorrow 
no more ! 



78 POEMS. 



III. 



Sweet be thy slumber! 

Soft be thy pillow! 
Cool breezes lull thee, 

Sighing through the willow ! 
Never may sorrow droop in thine eye, 
Nor Love disappointed cause thee a sigh ! 
Thine be all happiness 

Steadfast and sure, 
Virtue and loveliness 

Truthful and pure. 
As into the blossom 

Falleth the dew. 
So may peace in that bosom 

Reign, gentle and true. 
Adieu ! adieu ! 



79 



THE ABBOT'S GRAVE. 



The convent bell is pealing, 
The tapers shining bright — 

How those iron anthems stealing, 
Fall on the wings of night ! 

How the moaning lingers long, 
With a faint and wavering thrill, 

Like the huntsman's echoing song. 
Over mountain, vale, and hill ! 



80 POEMS. 

When the leaves are stirred by the sum- 
mer's breath, 
There riseth a murmur that's gentle and 
clear ; 
But thiS; ah ! this is the voice of death, 
And it freezes the blood as it jars on 
the ear. 

Denser yet the shadows throng, 
Still more gloomily the sound 
Groaning in the forest round 

Peals its messages along. 

They have laid him away in his narrow 
home, 
Cold and silent, and still, and lonely; 
Where nevermore shadows of peace may 
come. 
Where the wild night demons are brood- 
ing only. 



81 



THE ELM. 



At midniglit I stood by the dark rolling 
riverj 
Beneath the broad shade of that noble 
old tree; 
And I thought as I saw the blue waves 
curl and quiver, 
How soon their wild anthems might 
moan over me. 



82 POEMS. 

Like a giant it stood 'neath the clear light 
of heaven, 

Alone in its majesty, dark in its might, 
As a token to grovelling mortality given. 

To shadow and shade immortality bright. 



A breeze from the west murmured soft in 
its leaves, 
As the memory of those we have loved 
and have lost,* 
Alas ! that affection so often deceives, 
And leaves us to mourn where we 've 
worshipped the most. 



We live, and we love, and we mourn, and 
we die ; 
Still " Dust unto dust " is the warning, 
the call; 



THE ELM. 83 

Ah! wherefore regret the poor pleasures 
gone by, 
The pride of the heart still surviveth 
them all. 



Such, such were my thoughts as I wended 
my way 
Through the dark forest trees by the 
lone river's side ; 
And I .saw in the east the first glimmer- 
ing of day, 
Ere I left the dim woods and the far 
rolling tide. 



84 



THE CREATION. 



" And the earth was without form and void, and darkness 
was upon the face of the deep, and the spirit of God moved 
upon the waters. And God said, ' Let there be light :' and there 
was light." 

Darkness and boding death ! 

No motion, sound, nor breath ! 

Dread chaos reigns, and deep mysterious 

night. 
But hark! the shadows hear 
With reverential fear, 
The voice of one at whose pervading will 
The storm is hushed, the raging sea is still ; 



THE CREATION. 85 

Those solemn accents stern and slow, 
Echo through all the vast abyss below, 
And rolling off from heaven's concealment 

high 
Peal the long note through all eternity — 

"Let tlierc be light!" 
At once the veil of night 
Swayed backward and the dawn of nature 

came ; 
Of never yielding nature still the same. 
The earth, the ocean, and the star-decked 

[Glorious creation ! G-lorious Deity !] 
Sprang into perfect life as now we see. 
But what in all this beauty have we, save 
A living palace and a living grave ! 



H 



86 



A bower of lilies I Ve raised for thee, 
All beauty and all purity; 
ril place thee there and guard thee well, 
For the moon shall be my sentinel. 



87 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF 
ROBERT RANTOUL Jr.7 



Wlien in the pride of power, 

Of glory and renown, 
In fortune's favoring hour 

A patriot is struck down; 
How thrills each heart with sadness, 

How sorrow's sable cloud 
Dims every ray of gladness — 

The roses on the shroud ! 



88 POEMS. 

And when a man wliose course we trace 

Bright as the noon of day. 
Thus early closes a short race 

To pass in peace away; 
How many hearts must feel the wound, 

And yet with pleasure, praise, 
Though foremost in Ambition's round. 

He trod in virtue's ways. 

Such was the man whose death we mourn 

Integrity and Truth, 
Thus sudden from our midst are torn 

Just in their useful youth. 
Let Essex long remember, then. 

The course which he hath run, 
And be an honored shrine the tomb 

Of her most noble son. 



89 



AN EVENING THOUGHT, 



As summer twilight fades away, 
As darkness Wraps declining day, 

So sinks the good man down apace 
Unto his final resting place. 

As darkness flies the rosy morn, 
While golden tints the skies adorn, 

So springs he up on angel wings — 
Death is the veil which glory flings. 



H 



90 



EETROSPECTION. 



Tlic turf is green upon tliy grave, 

No marble marks the lonely spot 
Where all that ardent genius gave, 

Sleeps darkly on but unforgot. 
Ah, yes ! withm the breast of one. 

Thy memory ever blessed stays. 
And still from year to 3'ear lives on 

'T is all that 's left of better days. 



EETROSPECTION. 9 1 

My thoughts float backward through the 
years 

That one by one have glided byj 
I find the trace of many tears, 

The wreck of many a promise high. 
There, too, are early friendships lost. 

Of ruined love th' enduring pains ; 
But yet, or here or thither tost, 

The memory of thy voice remains. 



I hear it in the midnight gloom, 

When all around is still and dead; 
In hollow whispers from the tomb, 

It sadly floats around my bed. 
Is it thy gentle step ? I seem 

Again to feel thy tender touch: 
Alas ! alas ! 't is but a dream — 

Yet do I love to dwell with such. 



92 



MORIOE. 



I go ! the sun will shine as bright; 

In heaven as mildly blue ; 
The breezes seem as soft and light, 

The earth as fresh and new; 
The hours as merrily will glide 

As ever yet they Ve done, 
When thou wilt seek another bride 

And my short race is run. 



MORIOR. 93 

When in the cold; cold earth I lie, 

In my forsaken grave, 
Or where the summer winds float by 

Or sounding tempests rave ; 
Ah ! can I think a tear '11 be shed 

O'er one who loved — for ill — 
O'er one who, though her life is sped 

In death will love you still ? 

You '11 wander oft where I have been. 

Within yon leafy grove ; 
The places see which I have seen, 

The flowers I used to love ; 
In every silver-twinkling leaf 

Some token shall there be, 
And all but want a tender grief 

To bring thee nearer me. 

'T is so ! the truth I can forsee ; 
Now that my beauty 's fled, 



94 POEMS. 

The memory of our love must be 
E'en as that heart is — dead. 

And, since I'm but a worthless thing, 
Why do I plead with you? 

My spirit takes its heavenly wing, 
I go — Adieu! adieu! 



95 



T IS HARD TO PART, 



From those we love 't is hard to part, 

In any clime; on any shore ; 
Shadows will linger on the heart. 

And joys departed come no more. 

And when one cannot hope again 

To meet the cherished friend he leaves, 

The heart grows sad, and only then 
The inmost spirit smitten grieves. 



96 



SAILING BY MOONLIGHT; 

A FRAGMENT . 

How soft the ripple of the wave, the 

murmur of the wind ! 
The dark waves curl beneath the prow, the 

white foam las^s behind : 
While swiftly, gayly on w^e dance, upon our 

moonlit way, 
What strains of music, sad and low, along 

the waters play ! 



SAILING BY MOONLIGHT. 97 

Ah! then we muse on what we are, and 
what we might have been, 

Had we not wrecked the hopes of youth, 
or haply known of sin. 



The varied memories of the past come back 

to us again; 
Though pleasant, they are sad, but 't is the 

softest hue of pain. 
Those we have loved, though passed and 

gone, and never more to wake. 
Flit by us bright and beautiful as angel 

hues can make ; 
Their silvery voices mingle with every 

gentle breeze, 
Their requiem is the murmur and the 

moaning of the seas. 



98 



THE RELIGION OF NIGHT. 



'T was evening : in the western skies 

Richly the parting sunlight played, 
As love within a maiden's eyes — 

In intermingled light and shade ; 
And softly, with uncertain glare, 

The pale sad moon looked coldly down, 
And shed through all the summei^ air, 

A chillness as of beauty's frown ; 
And fitfully I caught afar, 
The music of a falling star. 



THE RELIGION OF NIGHT. 99 

Day slept; and dark the shadows grew, 

Impending o'er the woody plain, 
The noiseless sods were damp with dew, 

And night began her solemn reign; 
Cold silence fled the haunted fields 

To settle o'er the slumbering town. 
And all that midnight's grandeur yields 

To the dark forests, old and brown, 
With phantoms grim in weird array. 
Enwrapped my careless, wandering way. 



As sped the hours, the crescent moon 

Trailed the red splendor of her light 
Along the west, but wearied soon. 

Sank powerless 'neath the skirts of^ 
night. 
Then through the hills a murmur went, 
The leaves were hushed, the air was 
dead. 



100 POEMS. 

And dreary were the shadows blent 

Around, beneath, and overhead. 
The stars were dim, the moon was gone, 
And darker, deeper night came on. 

Then thus the thou2:htful current ran 

As on I paced along the sod, 
" Day serves to gild the works of man, 

But night reveals the world of God. 
And, oh ! when in upon the soul 

The glorious morning breaks and glows. 
How shall it comprehend the whole 

Of wliat it now but faintly knows ! 
How feel that while it lingered here, 
In the dark night its God was near ! " 

And still I mused, " How much remains 
Beyond the scope of mortal mind ; 

Man's pathway strewn with joys and pains 
Is dark before and dark behind : 



THE RELIGION OF NIGHT. 101 

Some wavering years of sinful strife, 
Some aspirations high or low; 

And thus the end of human life 

Is still to search and ne'er to know. 

True — 'till its star becometh bright, 

Thrilled with the flash of God's diviner 
light ! " 



102 



"WAIT AND HOPE." 



Hope on, whate'er thy woes may be, 
Oppressed with pain and full of care; 

There lives an unseen power that we 
Not least enjoy when least aware. 

Oh, when thy heart is rudely torn 
By passion fierce and raging will. 

Remember how the thorns were worn, 
And bid the tumult. Peace — be still! 



103 



TO MY FRIEND A 



ON THE OCCASION OP HER MOTHER'S DEATH. 



When o'er the purple, sunset sky 

With mantling rain the storm cloud 
weaves, 
Then low winds breathe a summer sigh, 
And conscious nature droops and 
grieves. 



104 POEMS. 

Thus o'er thy youth a cloud hath spread, 
An early grief, and mourned too much; 

Peace yet shall crown that lovely head 
Which sixteen summers lightly touch. 

Nor this a grief that will not fade, 
Though bitter be its early fruit; 

When all the autumn leaves are laid, 
Life glows and mantles at the root. 

Though the first pang be sharp and chill, 
This sorrow now so hard to bear. 

Shall wake within thy heart a thrill 
Of nobler power that slumbers there. 

The firm, the glorious strength of soul 
Whereby we make the heart a shrine 

For buried grief, and bear the whole — 
This beauteous power is surely thine. 



TO A 



105 



Think not I trifle with a pain 
So dearly true, so justly dear; 

But Time shall bid thee smile again, 
And Love shall dry Affliction's tear. 

Still, sorrow frowns away content; 

The eye tells all the heart endures; 
Each object, mute but eloquent. 

Speaks from her pitying soul to yours. 

'T is vacant, void and cheerless all, 
The light of life and love hath fled ; 

A nameless grief, a mystic thrall — 
You only feel that she is dead. 

And so 'twill be till o'er thy heart 

The charms of Time and Hope are cast ; 

Then shall, if this stern grief depart 
Peace fondly crown thy life at last. 



lOG 



AD MOUTUAM. 



I. 



Oh, no ! through every ill " 

Thy memory must not perish; 
But be forever, still 

A gem my heart shall cherish ! 
A thouo:ht of thee 
Must ever be 
A warning and a token, 



AD MORTUAM. 107 

And though thy sleep 
Be calm and deep, 
My faith remain unbroken. 
Oh, no ! through every ill 

Thy memory must not perish; 
But be forever, still 

A gem my heart shall cherish! 

II. 

Though death hath laid his hand 

Remorselessly upon thee. 
Still, still my heart command — 
It is attendant on thee. 

Sleep calmly on, 

Thy days are gone. 

The tomb's grim portals hide thee ; 

The hour is nigh 

This heart shall lie 

In peaceful rest beside thee. 



108 POEMS. 

Oh, no ! through, every ill 

Thy memory must not perish; 

But be forever, still 

A gem my heart shall cherish ! 



109 



MOUNT AUBURN. 



I. 



Lo ! in the midnight throng the shadowy 

shapes ^ 

Fantastic; for the grave relaxes then 
Its vigilance ; a myriad host escapes, 
Revisiting again the sons of men. 
Upon the breeze they sail, and in the glen 
Darkly they whisper, and the mountain 
caves 

K 



110 POEMS. 

Give back tlie echo solemnly as when 
The druid spake o'er Conway to the waves : 
Know ye the roving sprites — the wan- 
derers of the graves ? 

II. 

" Friend to the wretch whom every friend 

forsakes, 
I woo thee, Death," ^ stern, solemn, un- 

create ! 
Thou, before whom the shining ones of 

earth 
Yanish*like chaff before the northern wind. 
Thou, unto whom Mercy a stranger is — 
Pity, alike unknown; to whom the pride 
Of mortal man is an unmeaning sound. 
And his ambition weak and without end. 

* Dr. Porteus. 



MOUNT AUBURN. Ill 

Auburn ! sweet Auburn ! lovely and be- 
loved ! 
Peace real, peace lasting, soul enamoured 

peace, 
The low soft-breathing dreaminess of death 
Is in thee and around thee ; yea, thou art 
The type of that which only death can bring, 
Quiet forgetfulness and long repose. 



Sweetness is thine ineffable ; the dead 

Repose as if in palaces ; their sleep 

So beauteous seems, so chaste, so calm, so 

still, 
That one might almost envy them the bliss 
Of such pure slumber ; freed, forever freed, 
From all the bitter grief of this cold world. 
Its void pretences, shallow sympathies 
And crumbling friendships comfortless and 

cold. 



112 POEMS. 

What love betrayed — liow many a broken 

heart, 
What misery — what degradation sleeps 
Beneath thy beauteous bosom ! now at 

rest, 
Where pain can weary not, nor passion 

enter in. 



Hail! shade of Bowditch! mighty Spurz- 

heim, hail ! 
Twin gods of intellect and giant thought ! 
Long since ye' ve mouldered into " dust 

which is 
Even in itself an immortality." "^ 
Genius, ambition, the extent of power. 
And majesty of greatness, slumber 

here 

* Childe Harold. 



MOUNT AUBURN. 113 

With innocence, and lowliness, and peace. 
Here view equality I such has been — 

is — 
And must be to the end ; the charm is — 

Death ! 
Mighty — ubiquitous, transcendent Death! 



III. 



'T is done ; those airy forms fast fade my 

sight, 
And one by one the stars shine softly 

there j 
Rich, gorgeous gems that deck the brow of 

night. 
And shed a frosty lustre in the air. 
Now all is still again, serene and fair 
As the broad surface of the harvest 

moon, 

K * 



114 POEMS. 

Which, rising with its mellow, golden 

glare, 
Bows out the day, yet recreates the 

noon : 
Type too of life, triumphant first, but 

fading all too soon. 



115 



PROLOGUE TO AN UNPUBLISHED 
POEM. 



There are moments when the lightest hearts 

are heavy and oppressed, 
They know not what to dwell upon, they 

know not where to rest; 
Wild thoughts are hurried to and fro, and 

altogether seem 
Like the dim memories undefined, that 

throng a troubled dream. 



116 POEMS. 

The sluggish hours move slowly on, un- 
noticed and unknown, — 

Without, all dark and dreary is — within, 
all sad and lone ; 

The heart itself a lifeless void moves on 
without a thrill, 

We almost wish that lingering beat would 
falter and be still. 



The glories of the smiling earth and of 

the vaulted sky. 
Pass like an empty pageant before the 

soulless eye; 
We take no note of place or time, but 

slip the heavy chain. 
And dream — alas ! we only dream, that 

we are free from pain. 



PROLOGUE. 117 

Arise ! and strike the lyre again, and let 

its notes of praise 
Peal out a golden legend of the glorious 

ancient days ! 
Shake off the hideous vesture ! Let Love 

attune the strain ! 
Arouse ! arouse ! take up the lyre, and 

sweep the strings again ! 



In vain ! in vain ! all, all in vain ! for- 
gotten is the tone 

That spake of gladness, glory, pride — for 
evermore unknown: 

But notes of sadness yet are left, o'er 
which is beauty's veil, 

And Love, and Crime, and dark Remorse, 
to build the passion tale. 



118 



THE CONVENT. 



I. 



Where rolls that noble river, 

The silvery winding Rhine ; 

On whose waste of murmuring waters 

The moonbeams sweetly shine, 

When the youths and blue-eyed maidens, 

With pleasant dalliance glide. 



THE COXYEXT. 119 

Beneath a solemn midnight 

O'er the gaily glancing tide ; 

Through the fertile fields of Nassau 

Where rise the Taurus hills, 

And onward where the sparkling Majne 

Pours out its thousand rills ; 

There is the dreamer's palace, 

There genius is, and worth; 

There lived great Schiller's Wallenstein, 

There Goethe's woes ^ had birth ; 

There too, the great Messiah 

Of greater Klopstock rose. 

And many a name is shrined with fame. 

Where the noble river flows. 

A mystic tinge of beauty sleeps 

O'er all the wild, enchanted ground. 

And Solitude forever keeps 

Her sad and solemn watch around. 



120 POEMS. 



II. 



Behold yon ruined tower 

Half crumbled to the earth; 

Once there abode the flower 

Of chivalry and mirth. 

Where now is desolation, 

And ruin and decay, 

The ruler of a nation 

Bore an unrivalled sway. 

The huntsman's horn at early morn 

Rang through the arches of the wood, 

And the tramp and cry of the cavalry, 

And the mustering note of the trumpet rude, 

Echoed afar on the jDlacid stream. 

Sounding up the distant hills. 

Where the winding, twinkling rills 

Caught the sun's first golden beam. 

As he rose in the glowing eastern sky — 

Divinely-tinted deity ! 



THE CONTENT. 121 



III. 



But now 't is evening, calm and mild 
As murmured prayer of artless child; 
When fearing naught but trusting all 
He laughs the gathering night- to scorn — 
However black its gloomy pall, 
He knows that darkness ends in morn. 
Bright as the heaven to which that prayer 
Is wafted, shines the queen of night, 
And through the calm and dewy air 
Sheds forth a flood of golden light. 
Now floating over hill and dell, 
Comes the sweet sound of vesper bell; 
All else around is sleeping, still. 
Though from the chapel on the hill, 
The nun's low hymn with many a thrill 
Sails sweetly in the vale below. 
But see, in sorrowful array, 
Winding along the flowery waj^ 



122 POEMS. 

A sad procession movetli slow ! 
Yea ! in loneliness and gloom, . 
Bear her to the dreary tomb. 
Fair she was, but fallen, lost; 
Life to her a curse at most. 
Better she with Death should rest — 
He hath loved and loved her best ! 
Ah ! when woman's nonor dies, 
Peace from off her bosom flies : 
Then, oh then, what power can save ! 
Then how welcome is the grave ! 

lY. 

Love is a slow but sure disease ; 
It rends the conquered heart in twain; 
Who but the outward surface sees. 
Can know the burning, inward pain? 
The blue waves in the light may glow 
While the ^ea monster lurks below. 



THE CONVENT. 123 

Short was her life from honor parted, 
And him, the source of all her woe — 
She drooped — sad, weary, broken-hearted, 
Still as the light autumnal snow. 
The father lived, forgave his child — 
He knew the passion fierce and wild. 
Which pauseth not, doth never rest — 
Which burned within her gentle breast; 
And he forgave her, and had come 
To bear the mournful remnant home ; 
This was her home where never sin 
Nor dark despair can enter in. 



v. 



Alone he stood, for now the last 
Virgin from out the chapel passed; 
Alone he stood, while o'er his head 
The rustling chancel banners swayed; 



124 POEMS. 

Before him lay the beauteous dead — 
Behind him darkness, dense and dread. 
Fond, trembling youth had been afraid — 
But what had he on earth to lose ? 
What could he fear beyond ? to him 
•All hope was dead, it was not dim — 
Where could he better choose ? 
Behold that yawning pit ! there's room 
For many in its hollow womb : 
Of her in whom were all, bereft, 
What, what had he save vengeance left ! 



YI. 

Bending, he kissed that marble brow, 
Spread gently back her soft, brown hair, 
And struggling words of passion now 
Sprang to his lips, as bending there. 
His memory wandered back through years 
Of chequered being — joy and care, 



THE CONVENT. 125 

Reverses stern, and hopes, and fears, 
And sorrow, misery and tears — 
But now by villain arts bereaved, 
Of love, of peace, of honor shorn — 
How, how indeed; could this be borne ! 



VII. 



" Dead ! she in whom 'was centred all 

The little hope yet left me here ! 

Her fearful pain, her cruel fall 

I know, but cannot shed a tear. 

The fierce, the heavy blight of time, 

The restless influence of crime. 

Remorse for sinful actions done, 

Hopes crushed and scattered one by one, 

These have been mine, but these combined 

Were weak before my demon pride I 

Flattered, acclaimed — despised, decried, 



126 POEMS. 

I yet had left tlie unconquered mind. 
But she hath gone and with her fly 
The better spirits of my destiny. 



And shall he live, whose cursed heart 
Nor youth nor innocence could move ? 
Whose fiendish; death-created art 
Veiled in the sacred garb of love, 
Could thus destroy — Oh, God ! could 

sweep 
Beauty and virtue all away? 
Still shall my righteous vengeance sleep, 
And timid justice slumbering stay? 
No ! by my sainted father's grave ■ — 
No! by the cross that Christian^ gave — 
No ! by this consecrated dust 
I bind the vow, accept the trust; 
And he shall die : by heaven and hell, 
And earth and sea, it were as well 



THE CONVENT. 127 

For him to stem the lightning's course, 
Or meet midway the Ukraine horse, 
As that these eyes should look upon 
The cruel, proud, and perjured one." 



VIII. 

So spoke that gray-haired man, and then 

he strode 
Fiercely away, and 'mid the arches dark 
He sat him down — within the sad abode 
Of those who rest from pleasure and from 

care. 
The evening vesper, morning lark, 
And ringing echoes of the Spring, 
With all the beauty it can make. 
To gild the smallest earthly thing. 
Are void to those who slumber there — 
Ah ! they sleep truly who may never wake ! ^^ 



128 POEMS. 



IX. 



Hark ! liow fhe oaken chapel door 
Clangs with a dull and hollow sound ! 
List to the raging tempest roar, 
The lofty convent towers around ! 
Hear ye the clank of an armed heel, 
The ringing spur and the rattling steel? 
Lo ! the white and waving plume. 
Like an angel's robe in the midnight 

gloom — 
A warrior seeks the mystic tomb. 
Now he kneels by the gentle dead. 
And he sighs — to the heavy stagnant air; 
The altar lights are dim o'erhead. 
And the shadows are falling faster there. 
Alas, alas for him ! Remorse 
Hath thrown her robe Alcidean^i round him j 
Time dulls not grief nor bars its course, 
Grief and despair have darkly bound him. 



THE CONVENT. 129 

He liath laid his hand on her lovely brow, 
It is cold like the ice, it is white like the 

snow — 
And he speaks, with a murmuring hollow 

and low. 

X. 

" Well, thou art gone, and now I feel 

How trusting and how true thou wast! 

Strong Death hath set a lovely seal 

On virtue crushed and honor lost. 

Do I repent? Doth not the pang 

Of dark Remorse this moment steal 

O'er my bruised heart, from whence there 

sprang 
Evil I would not dare reveal? 
Thou art revenged if thy pure heart 
Ere harbored malice, anger, hate — 
But, oh ! however dark thy fate, 
I know thou couldst not thus be blest. 



130 POEMS. 

Thou couldst not hate, it was not thine j 

But only love, pure, noble, high; 

A something holy, ay, divine ; 

That burned unquenched — that could not 
die — 

This, this was thine, thou couldst not hate — 

No, no ! thou couldst not, couldst not hate. 

I knew thee when thy heart was young, 
And all around thee kind and sweet; 
A robe of light upon thee hung, 
An angel watched thy fairy feet; 
But now how changed and sad the scene 
"Where such fond love and truth have been ! 
And what am I if thou art lost. 
Whose crime it was to love too well? 
You on the waves of passion tossed 
Resisted long, reluctant fell; 
But I from earliest youth have been 
A monstrous prodigy of sin." 



THE CONVENT. 131 

" Yes ! but the time at length is near 
When justice shall reward thy deeds ! 
Thou se'st I do not shed a tear — 
No! 'tis the inmost heart that bleeds 
For such fell crimes as this which thou 
Foul wretch — nay! start not, look on 

me ! 
Old age is truthful, so is grief, 
And what I boldly say to thee 
Trust me is worthy of belief. 
Thou art a yillain ! Ho, wilt now 
Most noble, brave, and generous wretch. 
Thy princely privilege further stretch 
To cover this dark crime ? Is fear 
Joined to thy many virtues here ? 
Come ! draw thy steel ! once more be 

true 
To that which is from manhood due ! 
Her life thou hast — come, take mine 

too ! " 



132 POEMS. 



XI. 



The bright steel flashes in the light, 

And fast, and faster twine their blades : 

Have care old man, thy wavering sight 

Scarcely can fix the flitting shades. 

Hold ! now thou hast him — nerve thine arm ! 

Strike home, strike boldly — think on her, 

And be the thought a deadly charm 

To urge thy vengeance darkly on; 

Let not the dregs of mercy stir — 

Strike! thrust! he falters — ha! 'tis done. 

Along the marble altar stone 

The youthful warrior moaning lies. 

The spark of life not wholly gone, 

But closed forever those sad eyes. 

The warm blood gushing from his breast, 

Stains deeper yet his purple vest; 

Those white lips murmur faint and low, — 

Old man, why dost thou shudder so ? 



THE CONVENT. 133 



Those little words, they were his last- 
"Ella, dear Ella," so — 'tis past. 



XII. 



The sighing echoes faint and die 
Along the arches broad and hi^hj 
The faint light from the altar shed. 
Just tints the faces of the dead; 
Just shows the dark avenger's eye 
Is gleaming cold and dreadfully; 
G-lances along that reddened blade. 
And on the marble spreads a shade ; 
All else as weird and shadowy seems 
As memory of our midnight dreams. 
But darker yet the shadows fall. 
More ghost-like gleams that snow-white hair; 
And now thick darkness covers all, 
And naught but awful death is there. 

* -Sf * ^ -Jf 

M 



134 POEMS. 



XIII. 



'Neath the chancel side by side, 
Sleep they, bridegroom now and bride : 
And often when the votarist sad, 
Sighs for the joys she might have had; 
Scorns the^ calm bliss seclusion brings, 
Longs for the void of earthly things — 
If memory point her tearful eye, 
Where these crushed hearts together lie. 
In this she sees, ah, mournful thought ! 
How little good hath passion wrought: 
She sees that love indeed is vain, 
And gratefully turns back again. 
But feeling in their pain a share, 
She drops a tear of pity there. 

When in the course of rolling years 
Returns that night of blood and tears. 
Through the dark hours the organ rolls 



THE CONVENT. 135 

Its glorious anthems swelling high, 
And the veiled sisters bending nigh, 
Pray humbly for those ruined souls. 
Nor iS; for sad and dark his lot, 
The gray-haired wanderer forgot. 
Where'er he roams, whate'er his fate, 
Whatever tortures on him wait; 
Whether beneath Italia's sun 12 
His short remaining course was run; 
Where all that 's beautiful and bright, 
Warmly as youth and love unite. 
The tortured mind to soothe and charm. 
And every bitter care disarm; 
Whether remorse compelled him forth 
To roam the distant frozen north; 
Whether within the mountain cave. 
He found a secret, unblest grave; 
Whether beneath a convent's stones 
Repose unwept his mouldering bones. 
Or if a life of penitence atones ; 



136 POEMS. 

None ever knew ! His resting place 

No mortal eye shall ever trace. 

His life was — misery ; such Ms death 

must be : 
Leave him with God and to eternity! 



THE MORAL. 



Here lies the moral, useless and in vain, 
As morals have been, are, and still 
must be J 

Ever yoitr passions by your reason chain, 
And never grant them a supremacy. 

One certain safety from successive pain — 
But who, alas I can seize the remedy ? 

Some there may be, perchance, but very true 

It is that I 'm not one : Reader, are you ? 



137 



GOOD NIGHT. 



I. 



The red moon is hidden 

Mid clouds in the west, 

And the storm-king hath ridden 

Across the calm breast 

Of the placid; blue sea. 

And its waters so white. 

Solemnly murmur 

Good night! Good night! 

M * 



138 POEMS. 

II. 
In the winds as they shriek; 
In the clouds as they roll; 
There are voices that speak 
To the innermost soul. 
Reproachfully speak 
The angels of light; 
In that solemn murmur. 

Good night ! Good night ! 



III. 

In the heart there 's a tone 

That is sometimes heard. 

But despairingly lone 

Is each bitter word; 

And when peace is crushed 

By misery's might; 

It solemnly murmurs. 

Good night ! Good night ! 



GOOD NIGHT. 139 

IV. 

'T is witMn us, around us, 

Above us, below! 

'Tis a curse that liath crowned us 

With lingering woe : 

We can summon to shun it 

No earthly might — 

That wailing murmur. 

Good nidit! Good night! 



NOTES. 



1. " I was the bosom friend of Plato and other illus- 
trious sages of antiquity, and was then often known by 
the name of Philosophy." — H. K. White's Melancholy 
Hours ; No. iii. 

2. The allusion is to Byron's youthful love. For the 
fact that Mary Chaworth was accustomed, later in life, 
to visit the church at Hucknell, and pray at the poet's 
grave, I am indebted to an article on " Nottingham 
and Newstead Abbey," published some time since in 
Graham's Magazine. 

3. " Eeason is said to be one faculty and imagination 
another — but there cannot be a greater mistake. They 
are one and indivisible." — Wilson. 

4. Cromwell is meant. — See Hume's History, vol. v., 
ch. Ixi., p. 484. 

5. In discoursing of " Nature," Dr. Spurzheim says : 
" It is used to signify the first cause personified, and 
may then be considered as synonymous with God or 
Creator. — See Natural Laws of Man." 



142 NOTES. 

6. Mine is a free translation ; the original is thus : 

" II donne aiix fleurs leurs aimable peinture ; 
II fait naitre et murir les fruits ; 
II leur dispense avec mesure 
Et la chaleur des jours et la fi-aicheur des nuits ; 
Le champ qui les recut les rend avec usure." 

Act I., Scene iv. " Le Clioeur." 

7. Robert Rantoul, Jr. was born at Beverly, in 
August, 1805, and died at Washington, in the evening 
of Saturday, August 7th, 1852. He was a man of 
powerful intellect and exemplary character. A gen- 
erous heart, noble principles, and a mild, genial dispo- 
sition, gained him more and warmer friends than it is 
commonly the lot of public men to possess. 



NOTES ON THE CONVENT. 

8. The " Sorrows of Werter." It is somewhat sin- 
gular that Goethe should have produced a book like 
this. Madame De Stael says : " Goethe n'a plus cette 
ardeur entrainante qui lui inspira Werter ; (which im- 
plies that he had it once) mais la chaleur de ses pensees 
suffit encore pour tout animer." This, however, was 
when he was something more than fifty years of age. 
It seems peculiar that a man so nearly resembling a 
block of ice should ever have possessed sympathy with 
such emotions as constitute Werter. 



NOTES. 143 

9. Christian was an emperor of Denmark, and no 
very worthy individual, if we credit Schiller's account 
of his concern in the " Thirty Years War." 

10. " For a man never slept in a different bed, 

And to sleep you must slumber in just such a bed." 

POE. 

11. Deianira, wife of Hercules, wrought upon by 

jealousy, sent him a poisoned robe, which being put 

on, ate into his flesh with a torture, which induced him 

to terminate at once his misery and his life. He burned 

himself. INIilton has : 

" As when Alcides from .Echalia crowned 

With conquest felt tli' envenomed robe " 

Paradise Lost, Book ii., 543-44. 



12, " Thou paradise of exiles, Italy ! " 

Shelley's Julian and Maddalo. 



CEO. C. aASD. PBl.NTEB, COB.VHILL, BOSTON. 



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